Dead Over Heels

by Alison Kemper

  “Move!” Cole yells.

  He yanks me from the ground and we’re sprinting toward the zip lines, my whole brain screaming, No, you can’t do this! No! No!

  The pack surges closer, moving underneath the fire tower.

  Cole hops on the concrete pad, unfastens the D-clip holding the pulley system and hands me the metal handle bar.

  I stare into the gorge. Big mistake. My stomach drops to my toes. Below me—far below—the river dashes through the valley. Cliffs rise around it forming a steep, rocky channel.

  No, no, no, no.

  One zip line over, Cole unhooks his pulley and wraps his fingers around the grips of the metal bar. Bubba reaches the edge of the zip-line platform, the others only steps behind him.

  “Go!” Cole screams, and then he’s airborne, flying across the gaping canyon without a moment’s hesitation.

  I stagger forward, clutching the platform’s railing with one hand for support. The handle bar is already slick with sweat. The chasm yawns below. No helmet. No safety harness. No one to talk me through this. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I realize with each exhalation I’m letting out a shrill whimper.

  Icy wind blows up from the canyon, swirling around me, blowing snow and the smell of rotten meat into my mouth. I turn to watch Mr. Beaver shamble onto the platform. The past two days have not been kind to him. His skin has decomposed to the color of moldy bread. Blue-green streaks of rot marble his forehead.

  “Rawr,” he says, lifting his arms toward me. Then he laughs, like a hyena with a lump of meat stuck in its throat. “Raw-raw-raw-raw.” His loose eyeball bounces as he chuckles.

  This is what awaits me if I don’t take the zip line. Infection. Brain death. Bouncing eyeballs.

  I still can’t make my hand release the railing.

  Cole has reached the other side of the gorge safely. From here, he is a speck—a tiny dot on the snow-pocked landscape.

  Mr. Beaver takes one step closer.

  “Choose,” I tell myself. “Choose.”

  I glance into the bottom of the gorge and the landscape tilts. Dizziness washes over me.

  Death by zombies? Or death by plunging into a rocky canyon?

  Mr. Beaver takes another step. A low growl issues, followed by a flash of sharp teeth. Behind him, the rest of the infected country club guests shamble onto the grassy area below, effectively surrounding the platform.

  “Choose,” I repeat.

  My parents are somewhere on the other side of that gorge. And Cole.

  Mr. Beaver reaches for me.

  Fine, I decide. Death by canyon. And I grasp the handle and leap into emptiness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The zip line jerks me off the platform, gravity working its magic. Huddled below me, a cluster of zombies waits on the narrow strip of land separating me from the gorge.

  “Rawr!” A dozen rotten hands lunge for my dangling feet. The pulley whirrs, hurtling me toward the waiting horde. The scene freezes in my mind. Fingernails caked with dirt and blood. Eyes webbed with white. Mouths open for flesh.

  “Eeeee!” I squeal, lifting my legs. The soles of my sneakers skim the zombies’ outstretched fingertips. I clutch the bar and curve my spine until my knees hit my chest. I clear the monsters. Barely.

  A split second of relief and the ground drops away. The gorge yawns below me. I screw my eyes shut. Rushing wind fills my ears. The world ceases to exist. There is nothing except my hands on the bar, tightened in a death grip against the metal.

  I will not let go.

  Snowflakes whip my face. My shoulders strain to support my weight. Seconds stretch into eternity. How long until I reach the other platform? I’m afraid to open my eyes and check.

  The descent becomes faster. Faster. Faster.

  The opposite side of the gorge is lower, and gravity rips me toward the cliff. I drop like a stone, still holding the bar, but almost slipping into free fall. Did I get too much momentum when I jumped? Or maybe the lack of equipment is messing up the speed? Aren’t I supposed to have a harness or something? For whatever reason, I’m going way too fast. I can feel it. I know it. My elbows ache and my fingers go numb.

  I peek through my eyelashes. The world rushes past in an insane blur of snow and rock and sky. I’m completely out of control. The other platform looms in front of me, and I’m certain I’ll overshoot it. Cole waits on the stand, yelling something, but I can’t catch the words over the wind.

  Closer, closer. And nothing to break my fall.

  “Aaaaaaaggggghhh. Aaaaaagggghhh!” The landing spot is twenty feet away. Ten. I’m on top of it. I’ve missed it.

  The zip line ends—runs out of cable—but my body is still going. The metal bar jerks from my hands.

  Crack! I smash into the billboard advertising Weaver Bald Zip Line Adventures—Feel the Rush! My right foot busts through the “A” in “adventures.” My heel gets stuck; arms and legs jumble together, trapped in a tangle of paper and balsa wood. I grab for a piece of canvas.

  Riiiiiiiip! I plunge from the top of the billboard to the ground, and only the tearing canvas slows my fall.

  Cole tries to position himself below. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!”

  I land directly in his arms. It’s a hard fall, but he doesn’t drop me. He’s obviously as surprised as I feel.

  My breath rushes out in a relieved whoosh.

  I plan to say “thanks,” or maybe, “I can’t believe you caught me.” Instead, I say, “Damn, Cole—you’re so freaking strong.”

  Cole’s ears burn scarlet. I’m pretty certain my face turns the same shade.

  And then he does something startling. He pulls me close, crushing me against his shoulder in sort of a half hug.

  “You made it,” he whispers.

  Instantly, every ounce of fear falls away. I am safe. There is only the hard muscle of his shoulder and the soft material of his jacket. This close, I pick up the scent of woodsmoke still clinging to his clothes from the fire in our yard, so many days ago.

  I want to stay right here for the next hour, or six, but just as quickly as it happens, the hug is over.

  “Thank God you made it,” Cole repeats. He lowers the arm supporting my knees, gently placing my feet on the ground.

  “Wait,” I whisper. “I can’t stand yet.”

  Yeah, I’m not sure that’s entirely true. Maybe I just don’t want him to stop holding me. All I know is that my sense of balance has suddenly stopped working. Because of fear or adrenaline. Or maybe because Cole’s touching me.

  He rests a hand on my shoulders, keeping me steady. “Are you okay?” His voice is low and husky.

  I can only nod.

  “No broken bones?” He brushes a strand of hair from my eyes, his fingers trailing my forehead. “No concussion?”

  This time, I shake my head. Great, I’ve gone completely mute.

  His face is so close to mine. Six inches, seven tops. I’m overwhelmed by a sudden urge to kiss him. Which is crazy because I just zip-lined over a freaking canyon! I should not be thinking about kissing.

  Cole’s chest rises and falls rapidly. Is he thinking about kissing, too?

  And then my foggy brain registers one thing. The sound of Mr. Beaver’s voice. “Ree-raw.”

  I jump away from Cole. This is a stupid move because he’s still holding one of my shoulders. I stumble, flapping my arms to stay upright.

  “Careful,” he whispers, his hands steadying me again. “You’re woozy from that fall.”

  Now Cole’s the one reluctant to let go. But panic has cleared my brain.

  “Mr. Beaver! I hear him! We’ve gotta move!”

  “It’s okay.” Cole’s voice stays low. “They’re on the other side of the gorge, remember? They can’t cross.”

  The gorge. That’s right. A smile blooms across my face.

  “I zip-lined over the gorge,” I say. “Holy hell. I zip-lined over the gorge!” My eyes widen and I hop in place. “I did it! I zip-lined.”

&nbs
p; Cole grins. “You more like zip-careened, but yeah, you did it. Pretty badass.”

  “Did you just call me a badass?”

  This time, Cole full-on laughs. The sound is full of relief and happiness.

  My brain focuses a little better. Now I can tell Mr. Beaver’s voice, though full of rage and hunger, is far-off and echoey.

  “Don’t worry,” Cole says, jerking his head toward the gorge. “Zombies don’t know how to zip line.”

  A new awful thought pokes its way into my brain. My grin fades. “But Bethany does.”

  He nods. We break apart, both moving closer to the edge, trying to see the other cliff. The terrain here at the summit is rough—mostly rocks—and we have to pick our way carefully back to the edge.

  “Is she with them?” I ask, shading my eyes. “Bethany?”

  “No. I didn’t spot her back at the tower. Didn’t hear her.”

  “That doesn’t mean she isn’t there. Did you notice anyone from her group?”

  With careful steps, he moves closer to the ledge. “Lord God, I couldn’t tell. I was concentrating on getting the hell out of there.”

  I unwind the binoculars from my neck, where the cord has twisted with my purse strap. “Here.”

  Cole raises them to his face and scans the cliff.

  “How many?” I ask.

  He pauses, counting under his breath. “Maybe forty? But I can’t see faces. Don’t know if it’s only the country club people and the Beavers—or if Bethany’s group is there too.”

  Crap. Forty zombies. That’s a big enough threat on its own. Imagine what they’d be like with Bethany controlling them.

  “Were there other pulleys on that side?” I ask. “For the zip lines?”

  He gestures to the cables above us. Four lines, only two pulleys here.

  “So the other two are probably still on the other side of the gorge, waiting for Bethany.”

  Again, that raises the question: would Bethany leave her army to pursue us?

  Cole lifts the binoculars. “I don’t see her. She’s smart, though—might be keeping out of sight.”

  “Even if she’s found that group—if she’s in charge of all of them—let’s be optimistic and say she won’t leave them there on their own. Let’s say they all have to walk to this side of the gorge. How long would that take?”

  Cole’s big grin returns. “Hours. Many, many hours. If that’s the scenario we’re dealing with, we just gained, like, a five-hour lead.”

  Relief washes over me. “Just one more question. At the observation deck, I studied that map—the panoramic one. It feels like, well, we zip-lined in the right direction, didn’t we? Toward Glenview?”

  “Yep. We’re back on track. I’d been wondering how we’d get across that gorge. Figured it’d take the better part of a day to hike it.” He waves at the zip line. “Problem solved. With any luck we’ll reach Glenview two days. Tops.”

  “We can beat her,” I say, moving away from the ledge. “We can beat all of them.”

  I should be relieved. I should be celebrating. I should be putting one foot in front of the other, racing toward my parents and safety. Instead, I sink to the stony ground, my limbs suddenly heavy.

  “Rest a minute,” Cole says. “I’m gonna get a better look at that group.”

  “Okay.” My words sound small and far away.

  A second later, I get the strangest feeling. Impending doom. I recognize this feeling.

  Quit, I tell myself. You’re nervous—that’s all. You’ve just zip-lined and escaped from zombies. Calm down.

  But no, that’s not it. Seriously. I totally recognize this feeling.

  That’s when it starts. A slight tingle. Itching in my armpits. The air in my lungs turns to ice.

  The trees. It must have happened when I crashed into the billboard. Or at the fire tower. An inside wasp. Or maybe I zip-lined through a web.

  It doesn’t matter when or where. Only that it’s happening. Anaphylactic shock.

  “Cole,” I say sharply.

  “What?” he calls from the cliff’s edge, where he’s still scanning with the binoculars.

  “I need you.”

  “What is it? Is something coming?”

  My lips burn. I have to hurry. “I…I…”

  I’m becoming confused. I reach in my purse, fingers fumbling at the zipper for the pocket with my EpiPen. I clutch the plastic tube, but there’s not enough strength to pull it out.

  Cole stands above me, gazing down. Those eyes. So blue. So beautiful and blue. I smile up at him. I can only manage one clear thought.

  “Wasp,” I say. And the world goes dark.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Truth is—I’m still keyed up from holding Ava. How she dropped into my arms. The way she reacted when I crushed her close to me. I expected her to push me away. Maybe even shove me again. Instead, she buried her face in my chest. Did she like being there as much as I liked having her there?

  Damn. Why’d I set her down so fast? Why didn’t I think up some excuse to keep holding her?

  And now she’s calling me back from the cliff edge. Saying she needs me? Blood throbs in my veins as I take the few steps back to where she’s sitting. She’s smiling at me, a beautiful, broad smile. I didn’t realize how much I’ve wanted her to look at me this way. I’ve never had a girl look at me this way. So trusting and open. Her lips part, and I hold my breath. She’s so beautiful. What’s she going to tell me? My heart thuds with possibilities.

  “Wasp,” she whispers.

  “Wasp?” I ask.

  In reply, she topples backward, her head slamming the ground behind her.

  Oh hell. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.

  This is the allergy thing, right? Oh hell.

  Wasp? What had she said? Venom that wouldn’t bother other people, something about her throat closing up.

  Holy crap! If her throat closes up, she can’t breathe.

  Pen. I need that pen thing.

  “Where’s the goddam pen?” I shout into the forest.

  I grab for her purse. Her fingers clutch something inside. I yank the object from her fingers. It’s about five inches long—a clear plastic case with a yellow cap and orange tip.

  “Ava!” I shout, “Ava can you hear me? I don’t know how to work this thing.” Her lips have already swollen to twice their normal size.

  “Ava!”

  I don’t care if every zombie in the county hears me. If only she’d open her eyes. But she doesn’t. And I know I’m alone in this.

  Fingers shaking, I pop open the yellow cap and remove the EpiPen from the plastic. Pictures cover the outside of the tube. Pictures and words. They jumble in my head. The girl can’t breathe and I’m supposed to read a crapload of directions?

  Calm. I must be calm or she will die.

  There are numbers. One, pull off blue safety release. My fingers fumble, but the lid slides away easily.

  Two, swing and firmly push orange tip against upper thigh so it clicks. Upper thigh? The picture shows the needle entering a spot between the hip and knee.

  Her pants. Will the needle go through her yoga pants?

  No, I have to take them off. There ain’t time for modesty. I drag the stretchy material down her legs, leaving her thighs exposed. She appears so delicate and vulnerable, for a few long seconds, I’m sure there’s no way I can slam that needle in her pale thigh. And then I glance at her face. It’s speckled now. Bright red dots against white skin.

  “Ava, Ava.” Lord God, is she breathing? I don’t know if she’s still breathing. “Ava!”

  She’s beyond hearing. If I don’t do this fast, she’ll die.

  “Swing and push firmly,” I repeat, trying to steel my nerves.

  Inhaling sharply through my nose, I raise the pen above my shoulder. “Aaaagh!” I scream, stabbing the orange tip into her thigh. For three long heartbeats, nothing. And then a sharp click as the needle enters her leg muscle.

  Step three. Hold on thigh approximately te
n seconds to deliver drug.

  One Mississippi, two.

  “Come on, Ava! Wake up.”

  Three, four, five.

  “Ava, Ava.”

  Six, seven, eight.

  “Ava?” Nothing.

  Nine, ten. I grab the directions.

  Step four, seek medical attention.

  A crazed, half laugh, half scream bursts from my mouth. “Seek medical attention?”

  There is nowhere in this freaking forest to seek medical attention. Probably nowhere in the entire state of North Carolina to seek medical attention. The whole world has gone to hell, and if this girl is going to live, I’m the only hope she’s got.

  And I’ve obviously failed. My head falls forward with a strangled sob.

  I should remove the needle. I should check that she’s breathing, even though I know she ain’t. Her chest doesn’t rise and fall.

  But I’m frozen. Did I screw up and let her die?

  I wasn’t fast enough. Her throat closed. That’s what’s happened, I’m sure of it. She couldn’t get air, and now she’s dead.

  I screwed it up. I screwed up bad.

  “Oh, Ava,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

  A small voice answers. “You can take that needle out of my leg now. I’d like to pull up my pants.”

  …

  I pop open my compact and grimace at my bloated, speckled skin. It’s dumb to worry about how I look. Right now, I should be glad I’m alive and breathing. But I can’t help it—I pat my face, feeling my swollen lips, my extra chin. The flesh around my eyes is so puffy I can actually see it in my peripheral vision.

  Cole stands over me. “Here, eat the rest of these.” He tries to pass me the peanut-butter cups.

  I hold up a spotted hand. “I’m not hungry. Honest.”

  He pulls a disbelieving face while I shake my head and try to seem convincing. I don’t want to tell him I can’t eat for a few hours after an attack. That my throat tightens and I have to work at swallowing. His cheeks are still white with panic. I don’t want him freaking out any more than he already is. I especially don’t want to mention my one in five chance of a repeat attack in the next few hours.

  I find the welt on the inside of my left wrist, a small raised area more white than red. No stinger. “I must’ve brushed against something,” I tell Cole. “Maybe in the fire tower where it was warmer. And I just didn’t notice.”